Haunted by Waters
by Fialleril
Summary: Sam takes Rose to the shores of Middle Earth, and she beholds the sea. First posted at Stories of Arda.


Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Not even the title. It comes from the story 'A River Runs Through It' by Norman Maclean.**  
**

**  
Haunted by Waters**

Sam says that the sound of the waves on the shores of the sea is the most sorrowful sound in all the world. I see him there, standing all alone on the great grey margin of the world, salt tears trickling down to join the lapping waves at his feet. He is saying something, but only to himself, and the wind carries it away. The gulls above are mewling, and even the sea wind cannot muffle their plaintive cries.

And yet, for all it's so sad, I can't think the sea is unhappy. I suppose most folk would say there's no sense in a saying like that, and I expect for most things they'd be right. But not the higher and the deeper things. Those are the sorts of things my Sam talks about only rarely, and they sadden him still, though he's as happy as any. Mr. Frodo, though, he was different. He talked about the high things more than most, but he didn't always have to speak them with words. It was in his eyes, most times: he'd seen more than I'd like to think, but there was never a trace of pride, nor of self-pity, nor even hardly a thought for himself. But he had a sort of wisdom about him, and he was always helping folks in ways they could accept without feeling they were taking charity. He had a light about him too, sometimes, and he would shine like a star caught in a glass, so bright sometimes I'd wonder why other folks couldn't seem to see.

Mr. Frodo was like the sea, I think. Sad but not unhappy. Or maybe sad isn't quite the right word. More like touched by a deep sorrow, but one that didn't exclude joy. And sometimes I think the sorrow and the joy were the same thing.

I remember most the sound of his laughter. Maybe some folks might think he hadn't got much reason to laugh, with all the horrors he'd seen and had done to him in the Black Land. But I reckon he'd gone to the very heart of sorrow, and there in the depths he'd touched the heights, what Sam calls the 'light and high beauty' that the darkness can never reach. And Mr. Frodo had that light in his heart, like a fountain of joy. His laughter used to fill the whole smial, running down like a bright singing stream to water the earth, and when you heard it, you couldn't help but laugh too.

Standing now beside the sea, I watch Sam. He looks so small and sad beside those vast waters, and I remember the way he first described them to me. He came home that day all alone, and the look in his eyes was enough to break your heart. But when at last he spoke of it, he told me that the sea was beautiful. The sound of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth used to murmur in his dreams, and he said he was haunted by the noise of waters.

I never quite knew what to picture, when I thought of the sea. I suppose I always thought it would be beautiful and sad, the way Mr. Frodo was at times.

I never knew that water could sing so.

The sea is more than beautiful. My mother used to say that sometimes, something could be so fair it would pierce your heart. Mr. Frodo was like that. And the sea is like that. The waters ebb and flow over the grey stones, and the sound is like laughter—like the laughter that wells up in the midst of grief and brings acceptance and even joy.

And suddenly, I understand. The joy is too great, and I can't hold it in. I run to Sam, leaping like a tween and laughing aloud, and he looks up at me stricken. But he can't keep that look, even now, seeing me so happy, and I see an almost-smile about his lips. 'What is it, Rose-love?' he says quietly.

At first I can't even tell him: there is so much mystery in it. But then I look out at the sea again, and hear its bubbling laughter, and the words seem to flow out of me of their own accord. 'Oh Sam, we haven't lost him at all!' I hear myself say, and I am surprised to find that I am crying, the tears slipping down to join the waves at my feet. But my tears like the waves are laughing.

'We haven't lost him, you know,' I say again, and I can see the bright hope beginning to shine in his face. He wants so to believe me. 'Can't you hear it, Sam-dear? The waves are laughing! It's his laughter, you know, the sort that's all the fairer for sorrows. And though he's gone from us now, Sam-dear, the echo of his joy runs through all the veins of the world, and the sea is his song, and the rivers are his laughter, and the still waters his quiet joy.' And now I can't say any more, because Sam is laughing too, and he takes my hands and spins me round and round, and neither of us care that our feet and our clothes are wet and our hair is blowing wild in the wind from the sea.

And suddenly, piercing and wildly clear off in the distance I hear the echo of a call, like the fairest of musics mingled with that dear laughter, and I understand what Sam has always said about the sea. For as I listen awestruck, the sound of it is sinks deep in my heart, and I know it will echo there for ever. I am haunted by waters.


End file.
